"For Horus Lupercal, true brothers. For humanity."
The First Captain of the Emperor's Children took in a deep breath. He had spoken to six Companies - his own, Krysander's, Tarvitz's, Astarune's, Korander's and Onurry's. Perhaps not all of the Captains would believe him, but some among their Companies, at least….
Maybe this wasn't the best way. Kaesoron had never pondered any act like this; never strategized on the organization of a rebellion. It had seemed a waste of time.
Now it was reality. And as Carenn tumbled through the void below, Julius Kaesoron leapt up from his seat, clipped his powersword to his belt, and started the run to the shuttles.
Ispequr Davars jumped out from behind a hallway corner ahead a moment later, also fully armed, though yet helmetless. The second-in-command grinned upon seeing his leader.
"For Lupercal," Davars said. "I'm glad you've returned. Are we ready?"
"I've beamed my collection of poetry to external repositories. Arms… well, no one was expecting this, were they?"
"Neither us nor our enemies. You shocked everyone, Julius." Davars' grin turned down. "This means the end of the Legion, doesn't it?"
"I think you overestimate our support. The Legion has fifty-four Companies; I contacted the six that I felt I had a chance with."
"That few?"
Kaesoron slightly nodded as he took off again, steering towards the deck. Mosaics filed by, and Kaesoron considered that this was the last time he'd be seeing them.
At the same time, these were about the only such designs untainted by Laeran left on the entire Pride of the Emperor. It was wrong to leave the Legion - to betray it - but there was nothing here for him, or for anyone else. It would be the greater wrong to stay, to do as he had done before and fight for humanity's dusk.
In fact, he had destroyed quite a bit of the rebellion's infrastructure, Kaesoron reminisced as he sped by ever-worsening art in last steps, ever-closer to the deck. Guilliman would hardly welcome him. Still, a Primarch would be intelligent enough to accept a few thousand Astarte defectors as what they were - a gift.
Besides, entering with bolters trained on their former brothers would gain the Lions trust.
"Any more orders, Captain?" Davars inquired.
"Put your helmet on," Kaesoron recommended. "There's no telling what the Legion might yet do to us."
When the First Captain - no, not the First Captain, not anymore - stole his next glance back, Davars' visage was covered.
Floor by floor, passageway by hidden passageway, the Lions of Chemos made their way into the depths of the Third Legion's flagship. With every step, each of them drew a bit closer to freedom; with every step, each of their betrayals became a bit more irrevocable.
"I will atone for my mistakes," the First Captain said, jogging down a flight of stairs.
"You sound like Vairosean," a new voice came from the landing.
Assault Sergeant Wasnus stood below, his Squad - minus one Marine - surrounding him. They, too, were fully armed, and as Kaesoron reached and zoomed through the landing, they fell in step with their Captain.
"Rebellion," Wasnus said. "I understand there was no choice, but…."
"The Legion is composed of torturers and madmen," Davars stated.
"So is the Imperium," Kaesoron put in.
No one responded, as the procession reached the shuttle bay.
"Drop-pod?"
"No," Kaesoron said. "I have an appointment to make."
The Squad climbed into the shuttle, and Julius Kaesoron passed a last nostalgic look at the Pride of the Emperor's interiors. He recalled arguing with Eidolon, an eternity ago, about the hangar's decorations. That was before Laeran, before the daemons corrupted everything; there was still disagreement back then, but it was less… deadly.
And then Davars nudged his Captain, and Kaesoron walked up the final stair into the shuttle's interior. They had escaped interception, at least thus far, but there was no time to waste.
The vessel - the Penetrating Light of Eternity - charged through the deck. Its doors opened automatically, twin behemoths sliding apart ever so slightly; as the Light dove ever-closer, the gap appeared to widen, and then the shuttle was in the void of space.
"To the Andronius," Kaesoron ordered. "Rylanor will be on our side."
At least, he certainly would be if he knew what Fulgrim was doing to the Legion. The Ancient could feel a lie, so Kaesoron hoped he would be able to convince the greatest Dreadnought - indeed, the greatest warrior - in the Legion.
If not - well, though Kaesoron would yet kill his gene-brothers, he knew he could never do that to Rylanor.
The shuttle raced parallel to the decks of the Pride of the Emperor, as drop-pods plummeted to Carenn's surface in the distance - heeding his cry. Kaesoron did not count them. Titanic guns and exquisite art, still unaffected by the curse of Laeran, gazed at the Astartes fleeing their father. They were mute; they did not regret.
This was where Kaesoron would begin his song of the disaster. The rhythmic cannons, towers, and windows; the wavering murals and sculptures. They came together to create a mighty image, one Kaesoron was still proud of - he had helped in its creation, after all. But within that shell of glory, the Emperor's Children were rotting, turning into a Legion of heartless sociopaths.
Soon they would crawl out of that shell, as out of a broken egg. Then, Slaanesh would truly have his portion.
But it hadn't been Slaanesh who unleashed the World Eaters on Prospero. It hadn't been Slaanesh who had bombed the beauty of Venus IX into empty death. The Emperor of Mankind, beloved by all, was the ultimate root of darkness.
"Pandemonian," Davars swore by the hell of Chemos mythology. "They're heating up the guns."
"Took them long enough." Kaesoron had felt almost insulted by the fact that the Legion hadn't responded to his revolt. "Full speed ahead, evasive maneuvers, et cetera. We're close enough to the batteries that good piloting should be able to get us safely out of here."
The next moment, Julius Kaesoron was thrown to his left as Wasnus took the order to heart. The shuttle charted a tumbling path through the firestorm, pounding through nothing, twisting the knife into the flesh of dark space.
The Andronius was already visible in the distance, a steady violet wedge. It would be unchanged, Kaesoron suspected; Rylanor was, in the end, a traditionalist.
And Rylanor had not been at Laeran. But, of course, neither had Demeter or Vairosean; and Kaesoron had been in the final temple, but was still loyal to humanity over daemonkind.
"We're out of the storm," Wasnus said.
"Get us to Rylanor," Kaesoron said. "Nothing else matters right now."
The shuttle accelerated to speeds it was never created for, and the former First Captain felt regret at bringing about the end of a venerable craft; it would be severely damaged by the maneuvering. He regretted every bit of this betrayal, really; regretted it even as he did not doubt it.
The wedge grew in the viewports, and then the doors on its belly automatically slid open, granting the Lions of Chemos admittance. The shuttle clipped into the gap, revealing an entrance hall decorated with statues of dead Astartes.
They had been Initiates all, Initiates whose death Rylanor blamed himself for. Kaesoron knew, because he had been here two months ago, when Eidolon had tried to convince the Ancient to rejoin the front lines. Kaesoron knew, because the entire Legion knew, or at least the entire Brotherhood.
Kaesoron knew, because Rylanor had been accused - mostly by Eidolon, the arrogant bastard - of being a Horusian sympathizer; and that claim would be true, if only Rylanor knew of Horus' rebellion.
The shuttle screeched to a stop; the ramp fell out. Kaesoron jumped onto the stairs, leaping down onto the plasteel surface of the Andronius' hangar, and then the Squad was running for the ascent, charging into battle without battle against the forces of destruction.
"You'll be creating something new, you know," Davars noted. "Not a Legion, something smaller, but-"
"I never wanted this, Davars."
"Only darkness did." Davars turned his helmet to lock visors with his Captain. "But you have received this, whether you want it or not; so look to the future, Brother-Captain, not the past."
"Sage words." Kaesoron nodded, even as Sergeant Wasnus slammed open the massive doors to the Hall of Rites.
A dim, melancholic expanse revealed itself. Rylanor's curved chassis stood at the chamber's center; marble monuments to the dead charted rings around the Ancient. The circles turned to squares closer to the hall's boundaries.
Rylanor did not move as Wasnus came in, followed by the rest of the Squad, even as the walls resonated with the sound of the slam. For a moment Kaesoron entertained the concept that Rylanor was dead, but then reality reasserted itself as the Dreadnought rotated through the grayness, even as Kaesoron walked up to the Ancient.
"WHY ARE YOU HERE?" Rylanor inquired.
"Ancient," Kaesoron said. "The Imperium is spiraling into madness. The Emperor of Mankind has betrayed humanity."
"EXPLAIN."
"The Emperor has declared himself a god. He is obliterating the worlds that refuse to worship him. He has allied himself with dae- with Warp creatures. One of those, the self-entitled god Slaanesh, has caught the Third Legion in its snares. The Legion has resorted to killing its own, to extreme modifications along the lines of Fabius', and to torturing civilians."
"I FIND THIS HARD TO BELIEVE." It was hard not to quiver at Rylanor's voice penetrating the air, shaking everything around the Captain of the Lions. "AND FULGRIM?"
"Fulgrim leads the Emperor's Children into madness." Kaesoron paused for a moment, to catch his breath. "Horus Lupercal has led ten Legions that remain loyal into rebellion. I mean to join them."
"YOU ARE NOT LYING. BUT SURELY YOU ARE MISTAKEN."
Julius Kaesoron reached up for words, for something to clear Rylanor's doubts- and then there were new footsteps at the doors.
"SAUL TARVITZ," Rylanor noted.
"Kaesoron," Tarvitz said, with only a nod to recognize the great Dreadnought. "You have to stop this right now. It's not too late."
Kaesoron swerved to face the Tenth Captain. "Don't you see, Tarvitz? The Legion is going to hell."
"We cannot do anything." Tarvitz seemed on the brink of tears, though Kaesoron suspected that was an illusion. "We must follow the Phoenician, Brother-Captain. It's the only thing we have left."
"We don't need to do anything," Kaesoron said. "We can still build."
"No," came a new voice that Julius Kaesoron recognized as belonging to the Thirteenth Captain, Lucius the Debased. "Tarvitz is right. You have to stop."
One look at Lucius, even in the grim light, cleared away all doubt regarding the state of the Legion. The inappropriate tattoos, the sporadic cilia, the mutilated skull affixed to the Captain's helmet….
But Lucius was here. And that meant that Kaesoron had to fight, and run. And he had had such hopes for Tarvitz….
"You have to die," Lucius pronounced with an eerily high voice, taking out his bolter.
"No!" Tarvitz shrieked.
Lucius was a quick draw. Kaesoron saw the Thirteenth Captain's hand pull the trigger, but there was no time to dodge. Tarvitz saw it, too, but earlier due to his experience with Lucius; and the Tenth Captain leapt.
Kaesoron saw all of it. Lucius pulled the trigger, aiming at the statues' center, either Kaesoron or Rylanor - the Thirteenth Captain presumably didn't care which; the First Captain's own clumsy attempt to dodge; and Tarvitz, halfway between the door - where Lucius was - and Rylanor's position, jumping, throwing himself onto the deadly line.
The shell hit the center of the Tenth Captain's reinforced neck, and Saul Tarvitz crumpled to the ground, gone forever.
"Damn you, Fulgrim," Tarvitz whispered, and then there was silence.
As warriors from the Thirteenth Company ran up towards the Hall of Rites' entrance, Lucius smiled at the death of his friend.
"Unfortunate, but deliciously ironic. You're next, Kaesoron."
But the former First Captain was already weaving through the statues, keeping course for Rylanor's back door. The Dreadnought himself was already rushing in the same direction. Squad Wasnus was horribly outnumbered, but they fired back as they retreated.
There was a firestorm in the midst of the Hall of Rites.
Kaesoron ran without looking back, though not without firing back. His leg felt a rogue shell, but he kept up his pace. In the background, there were screams, the unending smell of bolter smoke, and the taste of death.
Brother against brother, for the fate of humanity.
Kaesoron reached the door, slightly limping; it was already open. He jogged down the stairs as the sounds of battle receded. Davars was there, but Wasnus was gone, killed in the melee. Rylanor came onto the top landing five seconds later, smoking from a dozen places but still moving.
"THEY AREN'T PURSUING," the Dreadnought said. "I ASSUME YOU HAVE A SHUTTLE?"
Kaesoron nodded. "We can borrow Lucius' if they ruined ours."
The Space Marines - not really Emperor's Children, not anymore - passed the rest of the way in silence. Their shuttle was indeed ruined, but Lucius' was far larger, easily housing all of them.
Kaesoron climbed into the pilot's seat and started the engines.
"Rylanor, will you be - "
"I'M FINE." There was a brief pause. "BUT THIS…"
Even Rylanor was speechless. Nothing was clear anymore. Julius Kaesoron was a traitor to his Legion and the Imperium.
And he knew, above all else, that he was right.
The shuttle raced into space, and Kaesoron veered it towards the surface of Carenn. The Hive World shimmered below, a splotch of life in a hostile universe.
"To the First, Ninth, Tenth, Thirty-Second, Thirty-Seventh, Fortieth Companies," Kaesoron voxed. "If you are still with me, remember this: do not hesitate to fire upon those who were once your brothers. They are, in the vast main, monsters now, little better than daemons themselves.
"We fight for the Warmaster. But for that, we must fight. And also, Brother-Captain Tarvitz-
"Lucius has killed him."
